Page 110 of Free to Breathe
Pull up Spotify. I made you a mix. Pop in the earbuds I packed for you. Get away from the family for a few. Put the journal away for a while. I’ll be back soon.
Reaching for my phone, I launch my Spotify app. Fucking hell. She must have loaded this last night when I dozed off. “Corinna’s Surgery Mix,” I mumble. Digging around in the massively packed bag, I find the case with my earbuds. Popping them in, I push Play. I grab my Corinna-on-a stick and lie back. Closing my eyes, I listen to the first song, clutching my paper Corinna to my chest.
57
Peacocks
“Take the craniotome, please.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Let’s get the flap covered quickly. Hand me a scalpel so I can start to peel back the dura.”
“Are you ready for the loupe, Doctor?”
“Damnit. Someone get me a retractor. I need to be able to see what the fuck I’m doing here. Goddamnit, Corinna, where the fuck are you bleeding from?”
* * *
“What doyou mean they’re a little behind schedule?” Cassidy demands.
“What causes that to happen?” I’m right on her tail with my question.
The surgical coordinator is agitated. “Any number of things can cause that. I wasn’t given more information than that from the OR. I’ll call up and come back to you with information as soon as I have it.” And then she scurries from the room.
A thunderous slam from the far side of the room surprises us all. We all turn, shocked to see Jason having slammed a chair into the far wall in frustration. Jason, who never loses his cool no matter the situation, is throwing chairs.
I’m going to be sick.
I shove past everyone and run down the hallway, barely making it to the men’s room in time.
I hurl everything that’s in my stomach into the toilet. I’m heaving tears and snot and profanity against the walls in between.
I never loved before now, so I could never hate quite like this.
My father, Jack, Addison, the enemy I was taught to fire on in the Army—none of them deserved the hate I feel right now. This tumor deserves it because it could steal my heart from my body. My head hanging down between my arms braced on the toilet seat, it’s hard to reconcile that it’s possible I could end this day breathing but completely dead inside.
And then my watch goes off.9:50 AM. Purple bag. Ziploc 3. Then your journal. Love, Corinna
I punch the side of the stall. The sound reverberates all around me before I unlock it. I stagger drunkenly over to the sinks to splash water in my mouth and all over my face. It isn’t until I lift my head to stare at my face in the mirror that I glimpse Caleb leaning against the wall behind me.
“I’m a fan of that particular stall. When Cassidy was shot, she was unconscious for days. I was petrified she wasn’t going to wake up.” His opening salvo has my attention.
“How did you deal with it?” I rasp.
His laugh is dark. “I did a lot of that.” He nods to the stall. “I also prayed a hell of a lot. Corinna wasn’t kidding when she said Cass and I had a lot of unresolved issues between us. I kept a lot from her, and even if she woke up, I still wasn’t sure she was going to take me back.
“There are three things you can’t forget today, Colby: the power of doctors, the miracles of prayer, and the strength of these women. Together they’re unstoppable.” With that sage advice, Caleb leaves the men’s room.
I’m not far behind him. I have a bag to open.
I open the door to our waiting room, determined to be what Corinna needs me to be: the strength to get her family through the day ahead. Without a word, I walk over to the bag and pull it onto the table, ignoring to the concerned glances being passed from family member to family member.
I find the next bag of cards and pass them out. Opening my own card, the glorious peacock preening at me makes me smile. Flipping it open, I read,Find us a vacation spot where I can see a peacock after I’ve recovered. I hear Florida has some. XOXO, Corinna.
I reach for my journal. She wants to go on a vacation? I’m ready to go wherever and whenever Corinna wants. Unwrapping the leather tie, I turn the page and freeze. The words are so simple. So profound. So perfect.
Don’t give up. I’m not.
